


be brave and be bold

by weatheredlaw



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Childhood Friends, Children, F/M, Family, Hopeful Ending, Long-Distance Relationship, Mild Sexual Content, Unrequited Love, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 01:05:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4726973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>But they did, as children often do, become friends in spite of it all. And while the world outside their little library was hard and angry and wanted to eat them whole, they were unaware, knowing only that these summers were good summers, and it would be preferable to live in them forever, instead of growing up.</i>
</p><p>or: Varric, future king of the Marches, and Cassandra, future queen of Nevarra, spend every summer together until they reach the cusp of adulthood. And then, everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea sitting in my head for a while. Sorry I'm on such a weird Queen Cassandra kick.
> 
> No, wait. 
> 
> I'm not.
> 
> [insert picture of me in a crown here]

Cassandra met the dwarf king of the Marches' younger brother when she was very young. He was just a few years older than she, small and too energetic. He ran too quickly, ate too little, and lied too much. Bartrand and Anthony had each ascended their respective thrones as boys, but became men in due time. They met every summer to hunt and fish, to trade stories and broker deals with their advisor's in tow. Cassandra was nine when she was finally able to play with Varric Tethras, and immediately requested that she never be allowed to again.

He had climbed the curtains in her bedroom, trying to catch a bird that had flown in through the window, and it had all come crashing down.

"You're rather strange for a dwarf," she said, kicking some of the fabric into his face.

He stuck his tongue out at her. "You're rather _small_ for a human."

Cassandra felt her face grow red, ran to the door, and shouted, " _Anthony!_ "

Her request was not granted, and they were forced to spend nearly every waking moment with one another from then on out. 

Breakfast for the two of them was a rather messy affair. Varric rarely touched his food -- he had a poor appetite and would drink only juice if Cassandra's maid didn't force him to eat a bit of toast or an egg. He complained about it constantly, but never seemed to be hungry. Cassandra thought he _was_ rather strange -- every dwarf she knew ate the same as anyone else. But Varric was different than all of them, and she thought it was really a sad thing that the Marches might one day inherit a bizarre king.

He had a singular redeeming quality that Cassandra did enjoy -- he would, if pressed and begged and insisted upon, read aloud to her. Cassandra had a private library, stuffed to the brim with her favorite stories, books she would read someday, and novels given to her by her mother ages ago. Varric like to read poetry, and Cassandra liked to listen. He had a soothing tone, and he did all the voices when he read a novel. It was the first time he made her laugh that summer -- he gave the queen in one of her books a high falsetto, and the two were found in a fit of giggles before dinner, rolling on the carpet and reading passages to one another through their laughter. 

After that, it became easier to like him, though she would always insist he was crass, rude, and brutish, and he would spend the rest of his life insisting she was a bit too highbrow for his tastes.

But they did, as children often do, become friends in spite of it all. And while the world outside their little library was hard and angry and wanted to eat them whole, they were unaware, knowing only that these summers were _good_ summers, and it would be preferable to live in them forever, instead of growing up.

 

 

 

Cassandra saw Varric as only Varric, and never as a potential heir, same as she saw herself. Anthony was near-immortal in her eyes. She spent a great deal of her childhood fantasizing about where she would go when she grew up, and how wonderful it would be to have a king for a brother when you could simply do as you pleased. 

"I'll be a dragon hunter," she said to Varric one day. They were laying on their backs in her library, holding their hands over the descending sun and making shapes from shadows. "All the Pentaghasts used to be dragon hunters."

"Why would you _hunt_ a dragon when you could try and _ride_ a dragon?" Varric asked. "I should write a story about _that._ " He'd begun crafting stories for just the two of them, and they were quickly becoming Cassandra's favorite. He'd started writing a story about a young girl who wanted to someday be a Templar. He had another story about a boy with a pet dragon, and Cassandra loved them both. He didn't even have to write anything down -- it all lived right there, in his strange, strange little head. 

"You could come with me!" Cassandra sat up. "Then we wouldn't have to be king and queen of anything."

"We could be dragon _riders_ instead."

"Yes, I suppose if you're going to insist on keeping them alive we could _ride_ them." Cassandra sighed, folding her legs under her. Varric sat up. 

"Are you sad?" he asked.

"No. I don't think so. I'm just...going to miss you, I guess. It's almost fall." 

Varric nodded. "Right. But you could write to me. And I could keep writing the stories."

Cassandra turned to him. "Do you think you would remember them?"

"Of course I would." He tapped the side of his head. "How could I ever forget?"

 

 

 

Cassandra was distraught when Varric left, and she locked herself in her chambers for an entire morning, crying and pouting about it. "I won't eat breakfast," she said. "I'll have juice." The self-imposed fast lasted only a few hours before her Nissa, her maid, shouldered the door open and dragged her by the ear to breakfast. Anthony was sympathetic.

"Don't be sad, little sister. It'll be next summer before you know it."

"Varric and I were writing a _story_ ," she insisted. 

"He promised he would write."

"Yes, but it isn't the _same._ " 

Anthony sighed. "Cassandra, it will have to do."

Disappointed that her brother lacked any sort of ability that would bring Varric back to her in a flash, she wolfed down her breakfast and rushed back upstairs to the library, setting up a little office for herself at the unused writing desk in the corner. She found her mother's old stationary and began to write a letter.

_Dear Varric,_

_You just left yesterday, but I'm already terribly lonely. Anthony is useless, just another reason why it would be no fun at all to be queen. I know you promised to write, but I'm asking you all over again, and if you don't write me I will go tame a dragon and ride it all the way to the Marches just to set you on fire for lying. But I know you wouldn't do that, because you are my dearest friend. Please do not forgot our stories. I already miss hearing them. _

_Yours, Cassandra_

 

 

 

She did not admit it often, but Anthony was right about one thing -- the summers arrived quickly enough when Cassandra made herself busy. After that first summer, Cassandra was put back in school and training. She worked with a sword master and a linguist. She was planning on becoming fluent in several languages, and thought she might be impressive when Varric returned. She would be ten, afterall, and he twelve. They would be practically adults, almost entirely different people.

Varric had given her an entirely new story for her birthday that year, and she had sent him a group of leatherbound journals -- _To remember your tales._ But she could not wait for the other stories to be written, and she thought perhaps he might take her for inspiration someday, if she became good enough with her sword.

Cassandra was practicing in the courtyard when he arrived that first summer morning, and when she turned to see him, he looked exactly the same, just a bit taller. Only now...now Cassandra seemed to tower over him. She had suffered a terrible growth spurt right before her birthday, and had walked around in ill-fitting breeches for three weeks until new clothes could be made for her. Before, the two had been just at the same height, but now Cassandra was nearly a head above him. 

Varric didn't mind at all.

He trapped her in a bone crushing hug, and seemed to have become less thin in the passing year. At lunch he ate like a regular person, but she found in the mornings he was still strange and would only drink juice and munch on a bit of bread before they set off on whatever adventure they'd decided upon that day.

Cassandra was considerably happier to have Varric back, and only became angry with him once, during the third or fourth week of their visit. They'd been in the library when a servant came in and requested, timidly, that Princess Cassandra meet with her brother in his study. Varric looked confused, and Cassandra had gone a very deep shade of red. He suddenly burst into laughter as she slid from the large leather chair and she could still hear him all the way down the hall.

That next morning, she challenged him to a duel and hit him seven times in the arm before Anthony came running out into the courtyard, manhandling the practice blade away from her.

" _Cassandra Allegra Portia Calo--_ "

"He _laughed_ at me!" she screamed. "Davos called me _princess_ and Varric _laughed._ " 

"You _are_ the princess, little sister."

"I don't _want_ to be. I hate it! I hate this! I hate _all_ of you!" She kicked her brother in the shin, pleased when he shouted and nearly fell over, and ran out of the courtyard all the way up to her room, bolting it shut behind her. She sat with her back to the door, shaking and sobbing. She was angry with Varric for teasing her, angry with Anthony for daring to tell her what she should be -- but most of all, angry with herself for the terrible things she said.

She didn't hate Anthony or Varric. She loved them both dearly.

Cassandra hiccuped and rubbed under her eyes with a rough hand. She would need to apologize, to her brother especially, but it would happen tomorrow. Today she would be a child. 

"Cassandra?" Varric's voice was muffled through the wood of the door, but the sound of it made her look up. It wasn't _fair_ that he could do something so profound and she could not. "Please open up. I'm sorry I laughed at you."

"No you're _not_ ," she said. "You promised you wouldn't lie."

"I'm not lying," he said. "I'm very sorry."

She sniffed, giving in and opening the door. He stood there, looking sheepish and holding two little cakes in his hand. "Those had _both_ better be for me," she said.

He smiled, and Cassandra finally smiled back. "They are."

 

 

 

Summer was the greatest time. Each year they grew a bit more. Varric finally came to love breakfast, though he would never eat it without complaining, and would always prefer just juice. Cassandra became tall and spindly, but Varric was never concerned that she was so much taller than he. The year she turned thirteen was the worst yet, when her chest swelled the winter before he came and she spent that summer with her arms folded over her breasts, certain they made her look ridiculous.

"The only ridiculous thing is you sitting like that," Varric said. "Stop it."

"They're _obscene._ "

"I'm sure they're quite nice," he said, grinning, and she finally uncovered herself to throw a pillow right into his face. He was fifteen and had grown rather handsome while he'd been away. His voice had grown deeper and Cassandra found it was almost enough to put her in a trance when he read to her. He still did all the voices, and the falsetto still made her laugh -- but now she found his voice appealing in a different way, sometimes finding herself flushed and excited after listening to him. She caught him looking at her sometimes, at the longness of her legs and the way she would braid her hair. She kept wondering if she should cut it, and Varric had told her she'd be beautiful no matter what she did. Cassandra had flushed and taken some of her hair to cover the silly, silly smile that she could not stop from spreading over her face.

They danced together for the first time that summer. They'd been visited by the king of Ferelden, and Anthony had decided to hold a grand ball to welcome him. Cassandra was forced into a horrendous dress, and, while she thought Varric looked very handsome in his formal wear, she could tell he was suffocating. 

"You look beautiful," he said. "I look like an actor."

"I think you look...nice," she said. Varric looked at the ground, scuffing it with his shoe. His cheeks had gone a light shade of pink. "Would you like to dance?" she asked.

"Absolutely."

 

 

 

The summer she was fourteen, he gave her a clumsy kiss in the middle of the night.

"You can't _be_ here," she said, shutting her door behind her quickly.

"No one's going to know. Besides, Bartrand's snoring and it's keeping me up."

"You share a room with your brother?"

"No."

Cassandra clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing too loud, leading him outside onto the balcony. 

"We have to go tomorrow," he said. Cassandra nodded. The trip would be ending a month early, and she was absolutely _miserable_ about it. Bartrand needed to return home to deal with a major land dispute and wouldn't leave Varric alone at the castle, insisting he needed to come and observe. Sighing, Cassandra sat down on the bench while Varric leaned against the low stone wall surrounding them. "I'll miss you," he said.

"I should hope so."

He grinned, looking down at her. Cassandra felt his gaze very clearly, like something was changed and charged by the moonlight. He was quite handsome, really, and she was aware of what she was becoming. Anthony sometimes spoke of suitors, though he himself refused to marry. Cassandra ignored him when he talked like this, insisting she would spend her entire adult life unwed and outside these castle walls. 

But a kiss...couldn't hurt. Could it?

Varric sat down next to her, as if he had the same thought. He reached out and took her hands in his, looking right into her eyes. 

"You'll miss me too, won't you?" 

"Yes. Though it will be much longer before you come to visit again."

"Right."

"Perhaps...perhaps I should have something to remember you by."

"Other than my charm and wit and good stories?"

"Yes." Her tone was far more serious than his, and Varric swallowed, looking down and then up. "Like...like a kiss," she said.

"A kiss." Cassandra nodded. "You...want me to kiss you."

"Well, I thought we might kiss each other."

Varric smiled. "That would make the most sense."

Cassandra bit her lip before she leaned forward. Varric leaned in with her, and they bumped noses, brushed lips, until his mouth parted against hers and Cassandra felt as though she would like being swallowed whole, if this was what it felt like.

 

 

 

"Bianca says it reloads almost instantly."

"Does she now?"

"Yeah, she's really good at making stuff like this." 

"It's very nice," Cassandra said without looking up. 

Varric had brought a crossbow to court, something he'd made with the the daughter of a dwarven Paragon that he could not stop talking about.

The first week of the summer was _Bianca said this, Bianca likes to go here, Bianca's favorite color, Bianca, Bianca, Bianca--_

"Are you alright?" Varric set down the crossbow and stepped closer.

"Yes," Cassandra said. "I'm fine. I'm hungry, though. I think I'll go inside and get a snack."

"I can come with you."

"No. You stay here and practice." She stood and put her book under her arm, walking back into the castle. But she wasn't hungry, not at all. She walked straight to her library, shutting the door behind her and laying down on the floor to close her eyes. She must have fallen asleep, because when she woke the light in the room had changed, and Varric was sitting next to her reading. "Hello."

He smiled at her. "Hi."

"What time is it?"

"Almost dinner."

"Of course." She sat up and blinked sleep from her eyes. She had missed training, then, but she had probably not been missed. Varric's crossbow had become her instructor's new favorite toy, and the two had probably had a wonderful time. She yawned and stood. "I should go eat."

"Are you angry with me?"

"No."

Varric scowled. "If I can't lie to you, why should you be able to lie to me?" 

Cassandra sighed. He made a good point, so she sat down across from him. "I am upset about Bianca," she said plainly.

"Why?"

"I think you might love her."

"Oh." Varric looked down at his hands. He was seventeen, now. He was practically a man. Cassandra suddenly felt like such a child in his presence, despite their difference in height. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"It's alright. You just talk about her so much--"

"Cassandra." Varric looked up. "I...I do love her." He looked ashamed, and Cassandra hated that he did. "I do."

She put a hand over her stomach, feeling wounded. "Oh," she said quietly. "Oh, I didn't...I mean--"

"No, it's my fault, I--"

"It's no one's fault, Varric. Those are your feelings--"

" _Princess Cassandra?_ " Someone was calling her. " _It's time for dinner._ "

She gave Varric a weak smile. "Time for dinner," she repeated.

"Cassandra--"

"Please," she said quickly. "Just...pretend I didn't ask."

He shook his head. "I can't do that."

"I think you might have to," she said, reaching out to cup his cheek. "We both might have to."

"But you--"

The doors suddenly burst open behind them, nearly knocking Cassandra to her feet. Her maid rushed in and grabbed her hand, dragging her away from Varric. "Nissa, what--"

"You must come right away, my love. Your brother, he--"

"Nissa, what's happened?" Cassandra wrenched her hand out of the woman's grip, refusing to walk another step. She heard Varric come up behind her. "Tell me, _now._ "

Nissa had been her maid since Cassandra was small, and she had never lied to her once, nor had she ever cried. For the first time, Cassandra saw her weep, and realized immediately.

"My brother--" Varric said.

"Here." Bartrand came up the hall and Varric went to him. "Your highness," Bartrand said, looking at Cassandra. "Please. Come quickly." He took her hand, now, and Cassandra was forced to leave the weeping Nissa behind, sparing her a glance before she disappeared around the corner.

 

 

 

Bandits had killed her brother.

 _Bandits_ had killed the King of Nevarra. 

Cassandra stood in his chambers, fell to her knees, and screamed. 

 

 

 

That was the last summer the Tethras brothers came to Nevarra together. Cassandra did not see them off, but she watched from her balcony, and she knew Varric could see her out the carriage window. She had donned her mother's old mourning clothes when her father had died, and would wear them for the remainder of the year, per tradition. She would be crowned in the spring, they said, after she had turned sixteen. Until then, her brother's advisors ruled with her, though Cassandra hardly made a decision beyond deciding to have her brother cremated and the bandits hunted down. 

She wondered what kind of queen she would be, before she closed the doors to her balcony and left her childhood room.

It would be some time before she stood in it again.


	2. Chapter 2

Cassandra woke the morning of her thirtieth birthday before sunrise. She dressed and went into the dining hall, already finding her usual breakfast waiting for her. She sat down, and ate in silence. In the fourteen years she'd been queen, the castle had become a quieter place. She was not the kind of ruler Anthony had been, and the warmth that had been his reign did not quite reach Cassandra's fingertips.

She found she was always cold.

"Your majesty. There was a message delivered to you this morning."

"Yes?" A servant handed her a letter. At first, Cassandra did not recognize the elegant, looping script on the page, but as she read it became familiar to her.

It had been a long time since she'd heard from Varric Tethras.

_You should know my brother's died. He's been sick for over a year, but we lost him last night. I'd like for you to come to the memorial service, if you could. They're also going to put a crown on my head, for what it's worth. I tried to talk them out of it, but you know how these people can get._

Cassandra set the letter down. Bartrand had died. Bartrand had died and Varric would be king. She tried to picture the boy she'd grown up with, but found herself at a loss. She remembered him for what he had been that first summer, but their last days together had been tense, and Cassandra had been too young to really understand her feelings. Fifteen and jealous of a girl she didn't know, a girl Varric had never married. She was certain Bianca had been a nice enough person, talented enough to have built Varric's crossbow. And Varric, a king now. 

She tried to imagine him with a crown on his head, and it only made her smile.

"Maurice?"

"Yes, m'lady?"

"Please send word to the Marches. We will be attending the late king's memorial service."

 

 

 

It rained the entire way. Cassandra slept for most of it, waking only when their carriage wheel caught on a stone and jolted her. She sat up, blinking into the dim candlelight. It was well after dark, and the storm still raged on. Cassandra had never actually been to the Marches before -- Varric and his brother had always come to them, probably because the weather here seemed to be so incredibly dreadful. 

When they finally arrived, Cassandra expected to be led away and would possibly meet with Varric in the morning, but she recognized the hand that helped her out and into the open air, the hand that pulled her in from the rain, to the safety of the great hall of the castle.

"Look at you," Varric said. "All grown up."

"Your majesty"

"Oh no, not yet." Varric smiled, still holding her hand. He raised it to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "You look terrible."

"Ah, as uncouth as ever," she said. She removed the hood of her travelling cloak, feeling Varric squeeze her hand in surprise. 

"You...cut your hair."

"Yes," she said. She'd done it herself, in a fit after Anthony had died. She hated the crown, so she made one for herself. Only a single strand of hair remained, enough to braid around her head. 

"It's beautiful," he said, and let go of her hand. Cassandra watched him sigh heavily and lead her through the hall. "Let's get you a room."

"I'm sure you have many things to do--"

"No." Varric paused at the foot of a wide set of stone steps. "I'd...I'd really much rather be doing this."

Cassandra nodded. "Of course." She followed him. He'd grown up in their time apart. Broader, now, with a wider face. His steps were heavier, perhaps with responsibility, perhaps with heartache -- Cassandra didn't know. He led her to a large, beautiful room, already warmed and set with bread and cheese on the table. "Varric, it's...it's lovely."

"I thought you might like it. You know you have the same curtains in your old library." Cassandra followed his gaze and realized he was right -- the curtains in the library they'd spent so much time in had been a rich blue color, with gold stitching down the side. Elvish, someone had said. These were the same. "I realized after...after that last summer. I came in here trying to get away from Bartrand and found them. I thought if you ever came to visit that you might like it."

Cassandra gripped the edge of her cloak, her throat dry and words formless. "You..."

"I'll let you rest," he said, stepping backwards out of the room. He paused at the door and smiled. "It's...good to see you, Princess Cassandra."

She spun on her heel at that, but he had already shut the door behind him, and she was left smiling at nothing. Sighing, she shook off her cloak and went over to the curtains. A servant brought up her luggage some time later and another drew her a bath. Cassandra stripped out of her clothes and stepped into the hot water, closing her eyes.

She hadn't realized how much she'd missed him.

 

 

 

The next morning, the castle was teeming with life. Bartrand had acquired a great number of friends, she thought, but was quickly corrected by the young servant assigned to attend her.

"They are Lord Varric's friends," she said. "King Bartrand only had one friend, they say."

Cassandra felt her throat tighten.

She couldn't find Varric for most of the day, so she wandered the castle with the young dwarf at her side, hearing a detailed history of House Tethras and admiring the portraits along one of the walls in the south wing. She met a woman named Hawke, from Kirkwall. She was drunk and dragging a man into a room, but recognized Cassandra immediately.

" _You're_ that scary-beautiful queen from Nevarra!" 

"Hawke, please--"

Cassandra held up a hand. "It's quite alright."

"You really are beautiful," Hawke said. "It's sad that you're...so _sad._ " She shook her head and continued dragging the man into a room. 

"I, uh, I see you met Hawke."

Cassandra turned, and the sight of Varric was a relief. She smiled as he came closer. The servant had disappeared. "I did. She seems very nice."

"She's something else."

Cassandra nodded as they walked together down the hall. "You've been very busy these last years."

"I lost my adventuring partner," he said quietly. "I had to find new ones." 

"Oh." Cassandra bit her lip. "That's...well how nice. For you."

"And what have you been doing? Besides stopping a war?"

Cassandra flushed. "I did not--"

"Your people were going to kill each other, Cassandra. I heard what happened. You negotiated beautifully."

"I did what anyone would have done--"

"No." Varric stepped in front of her. "Anthony would have done it differently. You did the right thing."

"Of course I did the right thing, but--"

"Andraste's _tits_ , Cassandra, take the damn compliment!" Varric's voice snapped up an octave too high and she flinched, jerking away from him without thinking. Varric's face fell, realizing what he'd done. "Shit, I'm sorry, I--" He ran a hand through his hair. "I need to go talk to someone about...about tomorrow. Sorry." He turned and went down the hall, vanishing quickly from view. 

Cassandra stood there, alone in a strange place, listening to the sounds of Hawke and her lover giggling in the room behind her.

 

 

 

Bartrand's memorial service was a solemn affair. It seemed that most of the people there had come to support Varric, and from what Cassandra saw, he was in desperate need of it. Some officials spoke, remembering King Bartrand as a royal without comparison. Cassandra sat at one of the heads of the table, near the Empress and King of Ferelden, who had apparently stopped squabbling long enough to remember someone else. 

Cassandra was surprised that Varric didn't speak. Instead, he listened, listened through all the speeches, all the memories. Tomorrow he would be crowned king. Tomorrow everything would be completely different.

That's always the way it was with tomorrows, Cassandra thought. 

She tried to find him after the service was over, but he had disappeared, and no one would tell her where he'd gone. It was inappropriate, she knew, to wander the castle, looking for its future king so late at night. Instinctual knowledge of her own castle led her around and around, but it was not the same. Outside, the sky had opened and the moon was bright. Cassandra wondered...she wondered what sort of gardens the castle had, and she wondered if Varric, in losing his brother, in losing so many things, had become like her -- longing for isolation when he shouldn't, finding solace in, of all things, roses.

"Princess." She turned just as she was about to step into the garden, just like she always had when he spoke to her. His voice -- oh, the most peculiar things it had done to her as a girl. And now, here they were, far from children, growing older, and apart. "What are you doing out here?"

"I--"

"No lies, Cassandra."

She sighed. "I was looking for you."

"Why?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

He shrugged, but hadn't moved closer. "You should be in bed. Busy day tomorrow. I'm sure you'll be heading back."

"No," she said. "I was going to stay for a few more days. If you'd have me."

"And if I won't?"

Cassandra swallowed. "Then I suppose you won't." She went to walk past him, but he grabbed her hand in his, pulling her back. 

"I'm being cruel without reason," he said. "I'm sorry."

"You are grieving. You are allowed some cruelty."

"I know what you had them do to those bandits," Varric said. "I know that they suffered. But there's...there's no one for me to torture. There's no one for me to _hurt._ No one else killed Bartrand, he got sick, and now I can't stop it, the words, they don't come out right, I just--"

Cassandra dropped to her knees and wrapped him in her arms. She had grown so much taller than he, but he was heavier, now, broad and _whole._ She held him as best she could, remembering the hugs he gave her as a child, and kissed his cheek. "You are not alone," she said. "I will be here for you."

"I broke your heart."

"We were children. My heart has been broken a hundred times since, and mended a hundred more."

"I never married her. She's a good friend, but I--"

"Why must you remember that? Of all things?"

" _Cassandra--_ " 

"Hush." She put a thumb over his lips. "Please. Just...just kiss me." She pressed her forehead to his. "I have forgotten what it felt like."

He looked at her, reaching up to hold her face in his hands. She expected something witty, something clever or funny -- but all she found were his lips on hers, kissing her fiercely, claiming her mouth as his own and holding her close. Cassandra kissed him back, moaned into his mouth and twisted her fingers in his hair.

 

 

 

He brought her to his chambers, instructing the guards to say nothing to no one before bolting the door behind him. When it was shut tight, he rounded on her again, pushing her back and onto his bed, kissing her mouth, her cheeks, her neck. Cassandra sat up in his bed, finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. She stroked her hands over his shoulders and arms, kissed his forehead as he undressed her, laughed when he brushed a hand over one of her breasts. 

"I told you they were nice."

"Ass." She kissed him again and they fell back against the pillows. Cassandra sighed as he slid her breeches down, pressed his fingers under her small clothes and stroked. She brought her knee up between his legs and he groaned, fixing her with a glare. She laughed, rolling them over and finally getting the rest of their clothes off. 

It was a leap between the last time she'd seen him and now. Now they were both grown. Orphans in their own right, lost at sea with each other. She had been in love with him as a girl, and found her heart still swelled at the sight and sound of him now. He filled her perfectly, his thrusts slow and satisfying. Cassandra had not made love to anyone in some time, but she knew that this was how it was supposed to feel. Her moans filled the room as she gripped at him, holding him as close as she could. 

"Cassandra--"

"Yes, _yes--_ "

Varric moaned, lifting his head and catching her mouth. He rolled his hips and came, spilling into her and grabbing her hand, threading their fingers together. His other hand came down between her legs, stroking her until she came, clenching around him. 

For a while, they stayed that way, clinging to one another until Varric rose up to brush his lips to her temple, getting out of bed to get some water.

"I should probably leave," she said quietly.

"Nah."

"The scandal--"

"Frankly, I don't really care." He paused. "Do you?"

Cassandra laughed, shaking her head. "No. Not particularly."

"Good. Because I'd like to do that again in a bit, if you're so inclined."

Cassandra leaned back against the pillows, laughing. "Well, anything for the future king."

She completely deserved the pillow he threw at her from across the room.

 

 

 

" _I present to you, people of the Free Marches, your king, his majesty, Varric Tethras!_ " 

Cassandra stood with all the other when it was announced, kneeled as they were all expected to. She found him after, and he pulled her away from the crowd to kiss her expansively against a wall, next to a portrait of a queen. 

"This is _not_ appropriate--"

"Everything's appropriate on your coronation day, Princess." But he pulled back and grinned at her. "I'm so happy you're here. I'm so happy this is happening."

"As am I."

"But you have to go."

"Soon, yes."

"Just like our summers," he murmured."

"Mm," she said, glancing out the window behind him. "But ranier."

Varric laughed. "That's the Marches for you." He leaned against the wall with her, taking off his crown and twisting it between his hands. "It's heavy."

"It gets heavier," she said.

"Maybe I could grow my hair out, braid something around my head."

"I will teach you how."

"I can _braid_ , Princess." He nudged her with his shoulder and sighed. "This isn't going to be easy."

"It won't." She rested her head against his. "Thankfully you are very good friends with an experienced queen."

"Just good friends, huh?"

"Well, I would not want to imply--"

Varric kissed her. "You know, Princess, sometimes you talk too much."

 

 

 

Alone in the privacy of her chambers, Cassandra blushed. Varric had begun writing her stories again, but each one was more inappropriate than the last.

_The queen stood in her room, completely bare. Her lover stood behind her, stroking his hands over her olive skin, kissing her shoulder. "You're beautiful," he said, kissing her neck, now. His hands traveled lower, dragging over her hips and down, reaching between her legs to--_

"Your majesty?"

"Yes?!" She threw the letter to the side, putting a hand over her mouth. 

"Sister Leliana is here to see you. She has something important she would like to speak with you about."

Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut, and pictured Varric's face as he wrote, knowing he was incredibly pleased with himself.

"Of course," she said. "I will be right there."

Sighing, she picked up the letter and skipped to the bottom.

_\--you enjoyed this one, Princess. There's plenty more where that came from, and you're the one who keeps being so damn inspirational. Maybe next time you write me a letter telling me all the things you want to do with me, though, you make sure no one else can read it. One of my advisors nearly pissed himself._

"Maker take you, Varric," she muttered to herself.

 _I miss you, of course, and I think this summer would be an excellent time to return to Nevarra. Maybe we could do some of that adventuring we always talked about._

Cassandra wiped a tear that had begun sliding down her cheek. She had no idea why she was crying -- she missed him so that it made her heart burst, but he would be in her arms again soon. She set the letter down and left her chamber, heading down the hall. She walked past the rooms she had lived in as a child, the ones she had bolted shut after Anthony died, and then thought better of it.

"Fetch the keys," she said to a passing servant. "Will you?"

"Yes, your majesty." 

When the girl had come back, Cassandra sent her away. This was for her. She unlocked the doors, and pushed them open.

Sunlight as still streaming into the little library she had cherished so much. It was the last place she'd spent any time with Varric at all, and she saw their books lying on the rug, exactly where they'd left them fourteen years ago. Cassandra picked them up, bleached by sunlight, but still legible. She set them on the little table in the center of the room and went in further. Her balcony was still shut, her bed unmade. 

" _Oh._ " She bent down to lift a little journal from the floor. A story Varric had written for her as a child. She would wait to read it with him. She would wait for him to come back.

Smiling, she turned and opened the doors to the balcony. Down below, she could see Sister Leliana being led into the castle, and she knew it would be time to meet her soon.

But for now, Cassandra dipped into the past. She could finally bear it, and though she stood in the room and wept -- for she had found one of Anthony's riding gloves, one she'd stolen as a girl because it had been so soft -- she knew all would be well.

Perhaps, she thought to herself, she would give this room, these books, even this glove, to her own child someday. 

Cassandra smiled. It was a lovely thought, and when she left the room, she didn't lock it behind her. The memory of it all had healed, and she felt, for the first time in so long, completely free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there you go have fun kids


End file.
